I fell down in the bathroom last week. In my apartment, this is actually quite an accomplishment, since the bathroom is only slightly larger than our refridgerator, and the walls pressing in on you tend to restrict any kind of movement.
I went down due to vertigo, which I don’t usually suffer from, but my inner ear was all wonky from a cold. I’d had a cold for about a week and a half, and I was so tired of having a stuffed head, I’d become kind of liberal about my nose-blowing. None of this polite sniffling demurely into a tissue. I was trumpeting like an elephant, in the desperate hope that I could breathe though my nose for 3 or 4 seconds before it filled up with snot again.
This nose-blowing is some dangerous stuff. Apparently I upset the delicate pressure balance between inner and outer ear because, after hearing a pop and a crackle, the bathroom spun like I was back in my college dormroom.
I was fine after a couple of minutes, but the lasting damage was that, between flinging my hands to my ears and going down on one knee, I managed to knock my glasses into the toilet. If falling down in my tiny bathroom was an accomplishment, this was the coup de grace.
I didn’t have a lot of options. My hand would have to go into the toilet. That was obvious. I could have looked around for some kind of stick. Or claw. If I had a claw. But I wasn’t thinking straight (a claw?!) and it seemed like the longer my glasses stayed in the toilet, the worse they became. Like they were melting in there — or getting dirtier, some kind of clause in the 2-second rule.
I got them out and put ’em in the sink. I washed my hands, a lot. I looked at my glasses. I washed my hands again. My glasses just sat there. One more hand wash. My eyesight seemed to improve by the minute. Did I really even need glasses? I mean, really?
I ran them under scalding water for a long time. Then I steadied my nerves with a stiff drink, closed my eyes, and stuffed them back onto my face.
There’ll be dire consequences, I’m sure. I’ll let you know.